gaze after
the pair. The description of Stampa's employer interested her. His
drollery evidently consisted in hiring a cripple as guide.

"Is the American monsieur named Charles K. Spencer?" she said,
speaking very clearly.

"I do not know, madam. But Marie, who is on the second, can tell me.
Shall I ask?"

"Do, please."

Leontine bustled out. Just then Millicent was amazed by Bower's
extraordinary leap at Stampa and the guide's agile avoidance of his
would-be assailant. The men faced each other as though a fight was
imminent; but the upshot was that they walked on together quietly. Be
sure that two keen blue eyes watched their every motion thenceforth,
never leaving them till they entered the village street and
disappeared behind a large chalet.

"And what did it all mean? Mark Bower--scuffling with a villager!"

Millicent's smooth forehead wrinkled in earnest thought. How queer
it would be if Bower was trying to force Spencer's guide into the
commission of a crime! He would stop at nothing. He believed he could
bend all men, and all women too, to his will. Was he angered by
unexpected resistance? She hoped the maid would hurry with her news.
Though she meant to go at once to the village, it would be a point
gained if she was certain of Stampa's identity.

She was already veiled and befurred when Leontine returned. Yes, Marie
had given her full information. Madam had heard, perhaps, how Herr
Bower and the pretty English mademoiselle were in danger of being
snowed up in the Forno hut yesterday. Well, Stampa had gone with his
_voyageur_, Monsieur Spensare, to their rescue. And the young lady was
the one whom Stampa had endangered during his career as a cab driver.
Again, it was droll.

Millicent agreed. For the second time, she resolved to postpone her
journey to St. Moritz.

* * * * *

Bower was surprised when Stampa led him into the main road. Having
never seen any sign of a cemetery at Maloja, he guessed vaguely that
it must be situated close to the church. Therein, in a sense, he was
right. It will be remembered how Helen's solitary ramble on the
morning after her arrival in Maloja brought her to the secluded
graveyard. She first visited the little Swiss tabernacle which had
attracted her curiosity, and thence took the priest's path to the last
resting place of his flock. But Stampa had a purpose in following a
circuitous route. He turned sharply round the base of a huge